


Ready or Not

by iammisscullen



Series: My Zarry Alphabet [3]
Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Fashion Designer Harry, Fluff, M/M, Rich Harry, Web Designer Zayn, Zarry Alphabet, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s the kind of person who won’t talk to you for three days because you didn’t catch the flying kiss he blew your way. So, it's a silent storm when Zayn loses the ring that Harry gives him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready or Not

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Another self-indulgence. Beta read by moi so there might be a lot of grammar mistakes. Also, there might be some bad analogy. Anyways. Enjoy!

_R is for Rings_

//

_I swear that when our lips touch_

_I can taste the next sixty years of my life_

**-Rudy Francisco**

//

 

**

It’s not really shocking that Harry wears more rings than he has fingers. He, himself isn’t sure where he got that fashion style but hey, it makes him memorable. He can be papped out of Pandora or Tiffany & Co. almost every month that his boyfriend, Zayn, wonders if Harry’s real plan is actually sniff out the competition and suddenly build his own jewellery empire.

The only problem, in Zayn’s opinion, is Harry’s really shitty at keeping tabs on where he leaves his rings. Harry’s always been someone who puts sunglasses on top of his head and then asks the next minute where his sunnies had gone to.

So it’s not surprising that Zayn finds 2 rings – a skull and an infinity designed one – on the sink in his loo. And he’s not freaked out when he finds another one atop his cupboards near his Weetabix cereal.

He can’t even mention the others like the one on his bookshelf, his coffee table, his ashtray, his bedside table, under his laundry hamper, in his washing machine, and some other places that are really odd.

But it’s not surprising because that’s Harry. And Zayn has learned to accept and love that about him.

**

Zayn’s never much of a jewellery type of person but he does love a good stud earring. Thus, Harry buys him some – and by _some_ , he means like twice a month for the last 2 years. So yeah, _some_.

‘Zayn,’ Harry singsongs as he entres Zayn’s flat in Primrose Hill.

Harry lives in Kensington which is just across Hyde Park and with a car, that’s little distance. They have been going out for more than two years now and they haven’t settled on a living arrangement; Zayn enjoys his space and Harry hasn’t brought up anything about Zayn moving in into his huge Kensington house.

Harry comes from old money that’s why he has his own fashion empire: _Harry Styles Style_ ; which has been ridiculed at the first pop up of the name but after Harry’s first fashion show in London Fashion Week, it silenced most of the bad criticism on the name and he was taken seriously in the fashion world.

But behind the scene it’s Zayn who’s laughing at the bad pun out of Harry’s brand name and gets away with it.

‘Zayn,’ he calls out again.

Zayn can hear Harry’s footsteps as he heads for the kitchen, where he knows Zayn will be having brunch at one in the afternoon because he doesn’t wake up before 11am. That’s the beauty of having your own business – you’re the boss of yourself.

He’s a web designer and often he does his work at home. People simply contact him for a project or if it’s a big one they pass through his little firm in Victoria that has a population of 3 assistant web designer, 1 secretary, and 2 interns.

His business is little compare to Harry’s mega empire; not to mention their business company that his sister, Gemma Styles, is leading into higher ground with the help of their mum – Anne Styles, former CEO.

‘Look what I got you!’ Zayn’s sure Harry’s squealing like his sister, Doniya, would be at the sight of 50% off Gucci shoes.

‘What is it?’ Zayn asks curiously but he can tell that it’s going to be another stud earring.

So when Harry takes out the tiny Pandora bag, he’s sure that it’s going to be a stud. Only that he’s mistaken because when Harry opens the bag, it reveals a gold ring with a circular flat top that has a G-clef engraved to it.

Zayn doesn’t have the words to string together. He’s overwhelmed.

‘What do you think?’ Harry asks, looking straight into Zayn to see his reaction.

Zayn still can’t name the butterflies that flutters in his heart and can’t stop the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. And he’s not a fan of crying or sappy scenes.

‘You don’t like it?’ Harry asks, worriedly; the big smile on his face that is the size of the solar system fades. He takes a step back and Zayn can sense his disappointment.

So, he cups Harry’s face with his hand and kisses him. It’s long and sweet and he can hear Harry’s happy sigh – can feel it.

Zayn deepens it, makes sure that the twist of sadness in Harry’s face permanently fades as he pushes his tongue into Harry’s mouth; because this wonderful man never fails to make his heart grow three times its size, never fails to make the blood in his veins sing and thrum like he’s high.

Music is what brought them together.

It was at the Cadogan Hall that they have both attended three years ago. One of Zayn’s best mate, Martin, was playing that night with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, thus, the VIP tickets.

Harry was there for some social gathering later that night at the after party, he was on his third collection launch and he attends as many events as he can to advertise his name more – not that it was needed because people love him and his collection. But he still goes because he’s a social butterfly.

It was the most cliché really, Zayn saving Harry from falling down the stairs because unfortunately, Harry has tripped – yet again – on a flat surface.

The rest is history really, too long if you asked Harry to tell you the whole of it. And this is the shortest version because Zayn’s telling it.

Zayn kisses Harry more, can taste the same sparks he had been blessed to taste since their first kiss; can feel the same electric current when their skins touch like it’s that night when he held Harry’s hands to keep him from breaking his lovely face on that marble stairwell.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ Zayn whispers when he pulls back a little to catch his breath.

‘Yeah?’ Harry’s eyes are sparkling with joy.

‘As beautiful as you,’ he adds because he has never seen that starlight glow in Harry’s eyes before.

Harry blushes and then smiles so huge he might break his face.

And Zayn has to kiss him again just to express how he feels because his words seem superficial for the thoughts he means to say.

**

Harry insisted for the ring to be worn as a necklace though, so he provided a long silver chain in which Zayn can hang the ring from, adding, ‘So that it’ll be closer to your heart’ or something along those sappy lines.

It’s all bliss and joy and love and rainbows.

But two weeks later, Zayn confesses to Harry that he has lost the ring by some accident. Left on his office table and got disposed along with his rumpled papers into the trash.

‘I’m really sorry, Haz,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

Harry just stares at him.

‘Haz?’

Zayn has seen Harry angry before and usually Harry tends to glare like he wishes his stare could annihilate you. But never like this, so impassive that Zayn feels more guilty. It’s not his fault though, he didn’t mean for it to go missing and be lost forever.

And as Harry leaves the flat, not a single word in his wake, Zayn’s suddenly aware of the existence of quiet storm; he thinks they’re the worst as well.

**

They fought before – who pays the bill, that Keanu Reeves can’t be gay, which pet to get (a cat or a dog?), that Michael Jackson is better than Elvis Presley – little things, silly things. But not like this. Something sentimental is on the line and it may seem like a petty thing for someone, but Zayn knows better.

Harry’s the kind of person who won’t talk to you for three days because you didn’t catch the flying kiss he blew your way.

Zayn leaves him alone – probably not as much as he plans because he sends Harry a lot of Korean Style Bow emoji and more _I’m sorry, Haz. Please talk to me. I miss you._

He sees Harry on the web though, articles about his boyfriend frolicking in New York and then in LA after three days, going through his business meetings with the fashion people and heading to a lot of stores – including his favourite Pandora and Tiffany. It’s a normal thing, to be honest. Too normal that gets Zayn worried.

Anne calls him every day, tells him straight (the day after Harry leaves his flat without a word) that his son is mad at him. It should have been bad premonition because it came from the mother of his boyfriend – and according to Statistics, mothers always feel protective over their sons so it’s better to delete yourself in the face of the planet if the mother says you have angered her son (that on this scenario, you are dating).

But instead, Anne laughs off her son’s childishness – yes, she knows that they have not talked since the silent war (it’s how Harry sees it somehow, when Zayn on the other hand doesn’t want to fight). She assures Zayn that it happens a lot, Harry’s Harry like that.

 _‘I’m not saying that what you did was fine, if it was me, I’d be disappointed as well,’_ she says over the phone when she calls him on the 4 th day. _‘But I guess, we can’t control accidents happening. Harry will realise that too. And I’m sure you also learned your lesson in valuing things that matter.’_

‘Thanks, Anne,’ he says, somehow comforted but the latter part sticks into his mind like a bubble gum on the hair.

 _‘Just do you best and try harder next time, okay?’_ she adds. _‘I like you, Zayn. You make Harry very happy and that’s all I can ask for. You care for him and it comforts me that someone cares for my son like I would have.’_

With that, Zayn doesn’t have anything to reply because Anne sounds like the CEO that she was in the past; and Zayn feels like he’s trying to get on her good side so she’ll sign the million pounds worth contract.

 _'I see that you’ve been very patient with him,’_ she continues. _‘He sends some of your texts to me asking if he should reply back.’_

Zayn blushes at the mere fact that Harry’s showing his mum his text messages. He needs to speak to Harry about that in the future.

She gives a small laugh. _‘And in the end, the stubborn lad, decides that I call you instead to pass the message that he’s okay,’_ she says in that amuse motherly tone that only mother’s have perfected if they’re telling about their children’s crazy antics. _‘He might not say it, but I think, he misses you too.’_

It’s only then that Zayn fully grasps the idea of having Harry away from him – of missing Harry. There’s no new tea bags in his cupboards, no fresh toasts and croissants in the morning (and by morning it’s 11am), no random texts or pictures on oddly hours of the day or night, no scarves left on his couch, no lost rings on his flat, no sunshine, no rainbows, no unicorns, there’s nothing.

 _‘He’s in New York,’_ Anne says after a short pause as if she can tell the revelation that’s slapping Zayn at that very moment. _‘At the penthouse suite in Plaza Hotel till Wednesday.’_

Anne didn’t say goodbye, she doesn’t need to because she knows when to hang up the phone and when to call someone – it must be a mother intuition thing.

**

Besides being petulant and being obsess with rings, Harry’s also a fan of grand gesture. And it may not be wise to do an airport scene because that’s impossible, it doesn’t stop Zayn from hopping on the next flight to New York in Hearthrow’s Terminal 3 though.

On the plane he does his best to memorise the script that he wants to tell Harry but then in the middle of the 8 and a half hour flight he gives up because there’s no way in hell that he’ll be able to say anything except _I’m sorry, Haz. Please take me back. I miss you._

When he lands at JFK, he goes for the cab queue and tells the cabbie to head straight to the Plaza. And it’s never easy to ask for the key to Harry Styles’ suite even with all the explaining that he’s Harry’s boyfriend who is going to surprise him.

But of course, Zayn’s cheekbones and long lashes come in handy on occasions like this one. Maybe it really is against the hotel policy and even against the law – the intruding of privacy of a person – but he’s desperate.

Maybe the concierge can’t be seduced by his sell-ice-to-Eskimo smile but after getting a cheaper room on the 4th floor, Zayn decides to use his charm on the innocent housekeeping, who could have been as old as his own mother.

Ella, the kind lady, listens as Zayn tells her of his conquest and endeavours, even showing her the pictures of him and Harry on his phone. It takes about 4 minutes to fully earn her trust and the key to Harry’s suite.

And when Zayn steps into the expensive suite, he figures that maybe, love does conquers all like all of those sappy romcoms that Harry adores.

**

‘Harry?’ he calls when the man passes through the thresholds and closes it.

Harry’s wearing his usual black skinny jeans and his brown ankle boots – Armani. And the newest to his collection of cotton polo shirts – of course it’s buttoned down to the navel, his butterfly tattoo peeking out – is a Hawaiian designed with huge red flowers against the yellow fabric.

He looks like a walking yellow Christmas tree, Zayn wants to point out and then laugh at how ridiculous Harry’s fashion is – ironic because Harry’s _in_ fashion. His style mainly just works for him though because if Zayn sees the pull-up look on a different person – he’ll probably call the Fashion Police himself.

But the words die on his mouth, the tease remains glued on his lips, and the laughter didn’t climb up his throat; because looking at Harry like this – wide eyes and so, so, so real – freezes him and his heart does this thing like its running a race.

 _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale,_ Zayn tells himself mentally. This is it.

‘What the fuck?’ Harry looks like a crossover of someone who is shock and happy at the same time. ‘Zayn?’ There is incredulity in his voice – feet unmoving much to Zayn’s displease.

This is what not happens in film. Harry should be running into his arms at this moment – he mentally notes never to tell Harry about his sappy expectation because he will never hear the end of it; worse, Harry will expect more cheesy romantic grand gestures.

Zayn doesn’t do grand gestures. Only now, because he’s desperate and he misses Harry so much he will probably fold himself into him just so he can memorise him again and see what changes happened to Harry for a week.

‘Hi,’ he says slowly, looking at Harry and averting his eyes immediately because he can’t think of his scratch speech if he’s going to be mesmerised by those jade eyes.

Harry’s polite. Always have been. So, Zayn’s relieve that he’s not being kicked out yet with the pregnant pause between them as he gathers his thoughts.

‘Look… I’m sorry,’ he begins, locks gazes with Harry because he needs to tell him that he means it. ‘I really am,’ his hand trembles at his side, probably itching for a cigarette to relieve the stress that’s flowing through his entire body. ‘I didn’t mean to get it lost.’

The softness in Harry’s eyes – or whatever _something_ that was there before – vanishes. It’s not like watching winter coming in slow, it’s like being in the middle of the summer and a blizzard suddenly commence.

‘I’m tired, Zayn,’ he points out, tone icy than Zayn expects it to be.

‘Please don’t say that,’ he insists because he can’t do this alone – won’t survive this alone. He needs Harry to say something else, something along the line of _This is our first real fight, but that’s okay, we can still try again because I’m willing to._ ‘We’ll make a new ring. I’ll pay for it.’

He knows, seconds after the words are out of his mouth they are the wrong thing to say at this moment. Proof of that is the way that Harry completely glares at him – really glares at him as if Zayn asked him to commit a Cat Massacre all over New York.

‘You know it’s not _that_ simple, Zayn.’

He hates how his name doesn’t sound like a melody against Harry’s lips anymore. It sounds like a curse, something Harry can’t wait to spit out because it’s poison. It hurts.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he demands, voice rising as well because he can’t fathom how a stupid little ring created a continent wide walls between them. Out of the two of them, Harry’s suppose to be the simple one; but now, Harry’s the one with walls around him. The scariest part is that, Harry seems to be building them himself.

‘I need you to remember, Zayn!’

‘Remember what?’ He’s so confuse and stress that he craves for a cigarette.

‘That I need you too,’ he answers weakly, shoulders sagging down as if he’s the one trying to get Zayn back – it’s the other way around.

Zayn just looks at Harry, tries to figure out what his boyfriend means.

‘Don’t you see, Zayn?’ He gestures his arms around him as if he’s trying to present that the answer is surrounding them; it’s a hotel suite, it doesn’t make sense. ‘I don’t know what to do with you.’

He almost says something. But he doesn’t know what he’s suppose to say; doesn’t completely grasp what Harry’s so upset about.

‘I’m not sure what you want,’ he says. ‘I have casually – some are very obvious – hinted that you should move in with me, but you say nothing.’ Harry looks like he’s going to cry, he braces himself on the wall, leaning for support. ‘Nothing… And I’m scared, that maybe this is all you want. And I don’t want this.’

Harry’s gaze pierces through Zayn.

‘I want more.’ He sounds like someone admitting that they’re dying and accepting that they can’t do anything to help themselves. ‘I need you to want _more_ as well.’ It’s like a plea, maybe it is. ‘Because… if you can’t give me more, you have to tell me so.’

Zayn goes quiet, his thoughts not being able to catch up with the revelation that had unfolded. Harry wants him to commit.

‘Zayn?’

He stares back, thinks of all the time he had spent with this two legged Bambi that gets too excited over a kale smoothie – who the fuck even likes kale? – and realises how stupid he had been all this time.

Green eyes are glued on him and he doesn’t want that to change, wants to wake up with those same jade eyes for the rest of his life or for the rest of the timeline Harry wants.

It’s not that long of a distance between them, probably three long steps. Zayn takes it – closes the space between them – climbs up Harry’s walls like Harry had been doing with him for so many instances.

He cups Harry’s face with his hands, his palms attaching themselves to familiar skin and curves. His whole body melts into Harry’s own like he’s trying to fit himself into his boyfriend – wear Harry like his favourite leather jacket because it always feels like home.

He doesn’t need a compass to navigate his own lips to Harry’s because what they have is like magnetism – like gravity – something that just falls into place; a pull that’s all natural.

‘Marry me?’ he says as he pulls back a little, staring straight into Harry’s wild green eyes.

‘What?’ Harry looks purely surprise.

Zayn pretends to look hurt. ‘That’s not really the answer that I was looking for.’

Harry pushes him softly, putting a small distance between them so he can really _look_ Zayn. He looks happy and confuse at the same time as if Zayn told him he can have a cat if he can make the cat sell weeds to his fellow cats.

He’s spent a lot of time looking away, running away from Harry’s advances – confessions of love – and it’s not like that now. He’ll try to remember that it won’t be like that now. So, he takes Harry’s left hand and gets down on one knee, never breaking their eye contact because he needs to convince Harry that he means all of this.

‘Harry Edward Styles,’ he begins, pulling out a dark velvet box out of his leather jacket’s chest pocket, ‘will you do the huge honour of marrying me?’ He opens the box and there against the dimly lit, luxurious hotel suite the golden band with five diamonds embedded on it looks up at Harry.

So many expression passes through Harry’s face, some of them makes Zayn smile, the others make his hand shake anxiously.

‘Yes,’ Harry answers, breath ragged like he’s been running. He pulls Zayn up on his feet with tears spilling from his eyes and kisses the man as if he’s seeing him for the last time.

Zayn’s small so Harry easily lifts him up and twirls him once. When he’s satisfied, he pins him against the wall and licks into his mouth like he’s searching something; one hand holding Zayn’s face and the other on Zayn’s hips, searching for warm skin to ground him. He pulls back so they can both catch their breath and dives back in but on Zayn’s jaw.

Harry knows that Zayn has this nerve somewhere below his ear, so he focuses on kissing there, making sure to leave a mark or two for good measure – just so tomorrow it can be proof that the whole night did happen and isn’t just an imagination.

It’s a bit ticklish part of Zayn as well but the giggle dies in his mouth as a moan escapes in its place. And he misses this part as well, he thinks, as he tries to focus on so many parts: Harry’s lips on his jaw, Harry’s hand on his hair that tilts his head to one side for better access, Harry’s warm, big hand under his tee that’s slowly heading south.

All Zayn can do, feeling much useless with all his senses dimming on everything and highlighting on everything at the same time, is put his arms around Harry’s broad shoulder – his free hand grips the hair just above Harry’s nape because that’s the only thing he can grasp to support him from falling down with adrenaline pumping into his veins.

The air suddenly feels too thick, smells like sweat and musk and a mixture of both of their cologne that it makes Zayn dizzy. It’s been so long – 7 days long!

God! He missed Harry.

He had a great urge to push Harry on the floor so he can suck him off while he fucks his mouth – Harry loves his mouth being fucked and Zayn loves fucking Harry’s mouth; loves how red Harry’s lips are around his cock and begging to be used.

But tonight’s not about that. This night should be about Harry because Zayn owes him – will always owe him. Bless Harry’s kind soul for not counting on debts.

Harry rucks himself into Zayn again as if he’s trying to merge into him. He puts one of Zayn’s legs between his thighs and starts grinding down on it because he can. He groans at the wonderful friction.

‘Haz,’ Zayn breathes out heavily.

Harry looks at his boyfriend – fiancé – and leads them both to the bed because they’re not going to last and they want to make this special.

And Zayn should have held unto the box more firmly because when Harry sits him on the bed so they can get naked, Harry’s gangly arms knock the box from his grip. It flies and lands somewhere inside the room.

‘Shit!’ Zayn feels so stupid.

‘What happened?’ Of course Harry’s always going to be the innocent bystander who’ll accidentally help the bank robber open the door and rush to his getaway car.

Zayn can feel his cock softening. He must have done something wrong for the universe to hate him this much.

‘I lost your ring,’ he answers half mad at himself, half disappointed.

It takes about 10 seconds for Harry to understand. ‘What?’ He doesn’t look happy either. He lets out a frustrated groan. ‘You have a problem with rings.’

Zayn flops his top half on the bed in irritation. ‘I don’t know why this keeps on happening.’

‘You must have broken a mirror or something,’ Harry teases. ‘I heard it causes 7 years of bad luck.’

‘Not helping, Haz,’ he announces, annoyance colouring his voice.

Harry rubs his hands on Zayn’s clothed thighs. ‘Good thing I have a back-up plan.’

‘A what?’ Zayn rises up into sitting again, legs spreading wider so Harry can kneel one leg on the space to balance himself. His arms wrap themselves on Harry’s torso to make sure he doesn’t fall on the floor while he plucks something out of back pocket of his skinny jeans. ‘If you’re back-up plan is a banana flavoured condom so we can fuck _fruitily_ and forget about my clumsiness, then it’s a long shot.’

But it isn’t condom that comes out of Harry’s back pocket. It’s a ring.

Zayn stares at it, eyes going wide with disbelief because not only that Harry takes out a ring instead of condom, but it’s the ring that Zayn had lost. He looks up at Harry, who’s smiling down at him.

‘Did you have another one made?’ he asks, unconsciously touching the ring to make sure it’s there and real.

Harry shakes his head. ‘I stole it.’ He smiles mischievously.

‘Stole?’

He nods. ‘When I saw it on your table for the third time like it’s another pencil or pen or any other accessory you put in your table, I thought that maybe you didn’t care at all.’ He sounds so sad again. ‘I wanted to take back a small piece of us if it doesn’t work out because I believed that you never wanted more. That you’ll never want more.’ He takes Zayn’s hand. ‘I needed a memory of you, and I thought that maybe if you want the ring back as well, it means you want to –’

Harry isn’t able to finish his sentence because Zayn brings his face down and kisses him.

‘I want it back,’ Zayn whispers against Harry’s lips, tightening his hold around Harry’s waist to make a point. ‘All of it; you, our stupid ring, your rings in my flat – all of that. I want us.’

Harry smiles, another set of tears threatening to spill, free hand holding unto Zayn’s shoulder for leverage. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I want that too.’

Zayn smiles back, can’t believe his luck.

‘Just to make it official,’ he says as he slips the ring on Zayn’s fourth finger. ‘I’m going to put a ring on it.’ He winks at Zayn.

Zayn laughs.

‘Just so you won’t go Beyoncé on me.’

And they kiss again.

And they fuck on that huge bed, above the white fluffy silk.

And they fuck some more on every surface of that suite just because they can.

They both went back to London the afternoon of the next day after Ella, the kind housekeeping lady, finds the missing ring near the feet of the bedside table.

**

Harry’s excited to plan for their wedding – the whole breaking of the news to their family excites Harry too. But he’s current happiness is Zayn moving in with him saying that they should try to practise living with each other under one roof.

And Zayn still finds Harry’s rings on the oddest places in the house. But he can’t complain because this is what he had signed up for when he asked Harry to marry him and it’s not a bad bargain.

 

_Fin._

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, you know the drill! xoxo


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